


hang the moon up on her hitching post

by heart_nouveau



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:52:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heart_nouveau/pseuds/heart_nouveau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Word preceded the lady deputy’s arrival in Winterfell, and although it was high noon by the time she galloped into the center of town on a fast gray horse kicking up a trail of dust behind, everyone had been sitting breathless by their windows all morning just waiting for her to appear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hang the moon up on her hitching post

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> For sexghost's prompt at multifandomfemslash: "An Old West AU in which Cat is the wife of a recently murdered sheriff and Brienne is the deputy that has taken his place, and sparks fly." I hope this everything you hoped for!
> 
>   
> _Update_ : Now with this lovely banner made by the giftee -  
> 

 

 

Word preceded the lady deputy’s arrival in Winterfell, and although it was high noon by the time she galloped into the center of town on a fast gray horse kicking up a trail of dust behind, everyone had been sitting breathless by their windows all morning just waiting for her to appear.

“She don’t look like no woman.” Jeyne squinted out at the dusty town square, hip slung out to one side for balance. Her pregnant belly looked swollen under the skirt of her faded calico dress. “Least not any woman I’ve ever seen. You really sure that ain’t a man?”

“Hush, Jeyne.” Catelyn smoothed her hands over her apron, trying not to lose her temper with her daughter-in-law. Jeyne was only sixteen after all, and lonely with Robb gone away. Even if Cat sometimes wanted to shake Jeyne for her lack of manners, at times the girl did remind her of Arya and that made Cat rueful. It had been nearly a year since she’d seen either of her natural daughters, and she missed them something awful.

Jeyne pouted a bit but pressed herself against the window frame to look. Cat stepped closer behind her, and they watched in silence as the tall figure swung down off the gray horse with easy grace. Taking a few stiff strides, the stranger smoothed down the lapels of a dusty tan jacket, and raised one gloved hand to push back the short fair hair that stuck out messily under a wide-brimmed hat. Jeyne was rude, Cat thought, but she was right. If old Karstark from the post office hadn’t run around telling everyone in town that the new deputy was a _lady_ , Cat probably wouldn’t have known it either.

Still, the stranger wasn’t half bad to look at.

“Cuts quite a handsome figure, doesn’t she?” Cat said mildly, watching as the tall woman fixed something in her saddlebags before tying her horse firmly to the hitching post in front of the sheriff’s office. The home to Winterfell’s lawmen sat right between the post office and the bank, but it might as well have been on a stage for its prime spot for watching. Across the square she could see Mrs. Cassel peering through the gingham curtains of her general store, gawking like the circus had just come to town. Cat stifled her sigh. If the new deputy noticed all this, she was going to think their town was nothing but a bunch of Peeping Toms without the social graces God gave a pigeon.

“She looks like a _man_ ,” Jeyne insisted, still petulant.

“Looks like a _cowboy_ ,” Rickon corrected, startling both of them as he popped up beside them with a wooden toy in hand. “Is it a cowboy, Mama?”

“No, Rickon. That’s the new sheriff’s deputy, and it’s a _woman_ , and I don’t think that’s natural.” Jeyne seemed determined to get the last word. Cat frowned but stayed quiet. The three of them looked on as the faraway figure brushed both hands against buckskin trousers, pulled open the door to the sheriff’s office, and disappeared inside.

“Well, I’d better go say hello,” Cat said after a moment.

Her hands were floury with biscuit dough, but she wiped them on her apron and untied it, setting it across the kitchen chair. “You go on and finish these, Jeyne. Make yourself useful and look after Rickon, too."

She was out the door before Jeyne could start complaining. Crossing the dusty town square, practically empty of people on this chilly October afternoon, Cat pulled her tartan shawl more tightly around her shoulders and shivered. It was unseasonably cold for Montana. Only a few banners flapped in the breeze, stretched overhead between the buildings with their cheery stripes of red, white, and blue. Old Mrs. Hornwood rocked in one of the chairs out in front of Cassel’s General Store, wrapped up tightly in a quilt. Cat raised her hand in greeting, and quickly went on by.

Inside the sheriff’s office, Roose Bolton sat behind Ned’s old desk, looking real comfortable in Ned’s old chair. He was looking up at the stranger who stood stiffly facing him, but at the sound of the door his chilly blue eyes flicked to Cat. He uncrossed his arms and got right to his feet, doffing his hat with stagey courtesy. “Mrs. Stark."

The tall stranger turned with a face wary with surprise and Cat thought she seemed even taller up close, like she could almost reach the ceiling. She took off her hat, pressed it to her chest. “Ma’am.”

“This here’s Catelyn Stark, widow of our late sheriff,” Bolton said in his exaggerated drawl. He tipped his head at the tall woman. “And this here’s—”

“Brienne Tarth,” the tall woman cut in, evidently not liking Bolton’s tone. Cat hid her smile: it sounded like the stranger didn’t care any more for Bolton than Cat did. Tarth gave Cat a little nod of her head, just like a gentleman. “But you can call me Deputy Tarth, ma’am. I’m mighty pleased to meet you.”

Deputy Tarth had the most curious face, not like any Cat had ever seen on a man or woman before. Rawboned, broad, sunburned into a tan, her face just looked real calm and steady, like someone you knew was going to stick around. In the middle of that tanned face sparkled two blue eyes, as blue as a prairie sky on a cloudless winter day. Cat didn’t know why, but she trusted those eyes.

So when the tall woman extended her hand Cat took it, and gave her a little nod. “Likewise, Deputy Tarth.”

“So your late husband was the last sheriff in these parts?” Tarth asked Cat, squinting slightly. Her voice was surprisingly gentle, but Cat could easily imagine it growing into a threatening rasp or bark. There wasn’t much call for sweet-voiced sheriffs in these parts, and probably not any place in the West.

“That’s right. My husband passed two months ago,” Cat explained, her throat tightening, “down in Sacramento where he’d traveled with my two daughters. We wrote to the U.S. Marshals to send one of their own, but it’s taken some time. So Mr. Bolton’s been doing the job for us.” _And poorly, too_ , Cat was ready to add. Since Roose Bolton had taken charge after sending Cat’s son Robb away, displeased landowners had been coming out with more and more complaints. It was a far cry from when Ned Stark had been sheriff.

Tarth turned to stare at Bolton. “So you ain’t a man of the law.”

“I’m the head of the coal and water supply for this town,” Bolton said, a weary snap in his voice. “I stepped in as the only logical replacement after Sheriff Stark left for California.” He turned at Deputy Tarth. “Now I hear you’ve never even served as a sheriff proper, Miss Tarth. Just as a deputy down south.”

“Deputy Tarth,” Tarth corrected coolly, “and I worked in Tombstone. They know how to train their deputies down there, believe me. Now why don’t you give me the run-down so I can take over this job, and you can go back to doing yours?”

Bolton’s eyes narrowed. Then he nodded real slow. “Now if you don’t mind, ma’am,” he said to Cat with an unpleasant smile, like he was already talking over her head, “we got some shop talk to finish up here. Wouldn’t want to bore you.”

Cat controlled her own smile. Time was, she’d known everything going on in Winterfell, legal or otherwise. Ned had told her everything he knew, but she’d been out of the loop as long as Roose Bolton had held the sheriff’s post. Now though, it looked like there would be a better way for her to stay current with all Winterfell’s lawkeeping. She could wait through one little conversation.

“All right,” she said, “enjoy yourselves, gentlemen.”

Cat turned to go—before stopping stock still when she realized her mistake. For the first time that day she was truly embarrassed. “Oh... Pardon me, Deputy Tarth, I didn’t mean—”

“That’s all right, ma’am,” Tarth said, tipping her head kindly. “I’m used to it.” 

Face red, Cat hurried on out, wrapping her shawl more tightly around her.  


* * *

  
 It wasn’t long before Deputy Tarth emerged from the sheriff’s office, color high in her cheeks, looking mighty aggrieved. Cat had seen that look on plenty a person’s face after dealing with Roose Bolton.

“Everything all right?” she called, stepping out from Cassel’s General Store where she’d been sitting with Jory, shooting the breeze and trading gingerbread recipes.

Tarth glanced up in surprise. She huffed a dry laugh as she reached out to unhitch her horse. “Well, I’m filled in now, at least.”

“He give you a hard time?” Cat asked, planting both hands on her hips and gazing up at the taller woman.

“Oh, he tried,” Tarth said darkly.

Cat laughed softly. “You should know that Mr. Bolton’s like that with everyone. It’s not because you’re a lady.”

 “Yeah, well. It wouldn’t be the first time,” Tarth said, sounding real surly, and Cat almost bit her lip to keep from laughing. Tarth looked about as sore as a kid who’d missed an easy shot.

“Where’re you staying, Deputy?” she asked, and the taller woman ducked her head with a modest shrug, a cowboy kind of shrug.

“Figured I’d board up at the house at the edge of town. There’s a sign, they’ve got rooms for rent.”

Catelyn’s mouth pursed disapprovingly. “Oh, you don’t want to stay with Maege Mormont! Her housekeeping isn’t a spot on mine.” It was the truth, but not the whole truth. Cat had her own reasons for making this invitation. “Now, you come on and stay with us. We’ve got too many empty rooms as is.”

The taller woman shuffled her feet, looking shy. “Oh, I couldn’t intrude on you like that, ma’am.”

“Nonsense. I’d sleep safer at night knowing that you’re there. We all would.”

Deputy Tarth looked at her with clear eyes. “Well,” she said, “all right.”  


* * *

  
Dinner that night was an interesting affair. They ate in silence for a long time after saying grace, Cat presiding from the head of the table. Tarth’s six-shooter and gun belt rested on the sideboard, just where Ned had always set his when he sat down to dinner, because it was real bad manners for a gunman to sit down to the table with his (or her, as it was) pistol still on. Everybody knew that.

“So it’s just the three of you, then?” Tarth asked eventually, glancing around at all of them. “Seems like a mighty big house for just three.”

Cat nodded, that painful old feeling rising up in her chest. “Heavens, I know. We used to have our whole family here. Ned—my husband—and all our boys, there were five of them, and my girls, Sansa and Arya.”

Tarth glanced at Jeyne, a question in her eyes; Jeyne fidgeted in her chair, eyes darting between the older women, but didn’t say a word. “Jeyne’s my daughter-in-law,” Cat explained, folding a hand over her napkin. “My son Robb’s her husband. He’s a cavalry scout, and he left to go out scouting when my husband passed. Mr. Bolton—who you met—encouraged him. Told him it would preserve Ned’s legacy.”

Jeyne spoke up for the first time. “When he comes back,” she said breathlessly, “we’re movin’ out to the family ranch. We’re goingn’a have horses and everything, and all sorts of animals.”

Tarth raised an eyebrow, looking to Cat for explanation. “We’ve got a ranch,” Cat explained duly, wishing it didn’t hurt so bad to talk about this kind of family history. “About four, five miles out of town. Ned and I raised the children out there back when it was just a homestead. But we always kept this house too, it was in Ned’s family, and—when he left last year, I moved here. It felt safer.”

She fell silent, feeling like she might have said too much.

“Now, if you’ve got five boys,” Tarth said slowly, digging her fork through the beans on her plate, “how’s it that none of them are around to inherit that sheriff’s position? How come it’s Mr. Bolton sitting up in that sheriff’s office and not a Stark boy looking to follow in the footsteps of his daddy?”

“Well, you’re looking at one of them.” Cat nodded at Rickon, who was sitting in his chair waiting to be dismissed, clearly not listening to a word. “Two—two of them aren’t mine, they’re our wards. Theon, he’s boarding at the ranch, keeping it for us. Jon left to go ride as mounted cavalry in the mountains far north, even before Ned went. Bran, he’s second youngest, he’s at a sanatorium back East. He—there was an accident and we don’t know if he’ll walk again. It’s better for him to be in a place with good doctors around him. And Robb? Well.” Cat swallowed. “Truth be told, he’s the one who ought to be here. But Mr. Bolton just put a _bee_ in his ear about riding out to get revenge for Ned.” She paused, trying to tamp down the frustration in her voice. “Robb’s place is here. We’re just waiting for him to come on home.”

Jeyne murmured her agreement, for once made sober. There was another silence at the table, and Cat had to look down at her hands to compose herself. When she looked up, Tarth was watching her real close with those bright blue eyes. “But we’re very glad to have you here in town,” Cat said, with as much manners as she could muster. “Winterfell’s been in sore need of some real law enforcement.”

They kept on eating. Rickon tried to put two biscuits in his mouth at one time, fitting one in each cheek like a possum, and only quit when Cat gave him a warning look.

“How come you wear men’s clothes?” Jeyne asked suddenly, looking at Deputy Tarth with keen interest on her narrow little face.

“Mind your manners, young lady,” Cat told her sharply. 

The big woman just chuckled softly. “No, I don’t mind.” She glanced at Jeyne, spreading her broad hands by way of explanation. “To do a man’s job, you’ve got to look the part. Otherwise, people won’t take you serious.”

“There,” Cat said to Jeyne primly. “Are you done asking all your impolite questions?”

“It ain’t no problem.” Tarth smiled at Jeyne, who looked mollified. She glanced over at Cat, the expression on her face steady and calm. “Nothing I haven’t been asked before.”  


* * *

  
That night Cat knelt beside her bed, the bed that was too big now that Ned was gone. These days she shared with Jeyne, who lay huddled and gently snoring at the other side of the mattress. A single candlestick lit the room, its light guttering from the nightstand. Cat bent her head, thinking of all her family’s faces; as always, the recollection of Ned’s face caused a hollow, empty ache in her chest. She rocked slightly on her knees, thinking of him, and opened her well-worn Bible to the passage she’d marked with a ribbon. She closed her eyes and began to recite the verse silently.

_The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want._

There was a creak in the hall behind her and Cat turned around, stifling the gasp in her throat.

Even by the flickering light of the candle, she could make out Deputy Tarth’s face flushing red as the taller woman stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Oh—I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was just—just goin’ to bed.”

She’d put Deputy Tarth at the end of the hall, in the room that used to belong to Sansa and Arya. Cat could tell that seeing her this way, long red hair down, in her white nightdress, deeply embarrassed the other woman. She reached for the shawl folded at the foot of the bed, drawing it around her shoulders.

“Oh goodness, you didn’t,” she said after a moment, collecting her nerves. She was so jumpy these days; but it felt like she was always going to be that way, after all that’d happened. “Can I—is there anything that you need, Deputy? Is everything all right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tarth paused. “Just goin’ to bed now.”

Cat hesitated, smoothing the velvet ribbon back down over the Bible page and gently closing the book. She stood slowly. “You know, I was thinking of having some cocoa. Would you care to join me?”

They ended up sitting at the kitchen table, sipping cocoa in tin mugs. Catelyn pulled her shawl more tightly around her; the autumn chill had just begun, and the warmth did a body good.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” Tarth said eventually, “over everything you told me. ‘Bout the town, and your family, and all that.” She hesitated, like she wanted to ask a question.

Cat watched her for a few moments, and then gently prodded, “Yes?”

Tarth set down her cocoa mug and scrubbed a hand across her rawboned face. “Why did your husband go?” she said plainly. She looked tired. “Why would he leave you here? If you don’t mind me askin’.”

Cat took a deep breath, released it. It came out like a sigh. “Ned didn’t want to go to Sacramento,” she said, weary. “But he had to. You see… my husband and his friend Robert were raised up from boys together. Robert Baratheon, do you know that name?”

Tarth’s nose crinkled. “Ain’t that the Congressman from California?”

“That’s right.”

“So what’s he got to do with a sheriff in the middle of Montana?”

Cat’s hands tightened around her mug. “He asked Ned to join him as his second-in-command. Robert said he didn’t trust the men around him. So Ned went to him, taking our daughters—our eldest, Sansa, was betrothed to Robert’s son. Ned wrote me letters, and it all seemed to be going fine out there, but then… it all went bad. Real bad. Ned got killed, and no one would tell us what really happened. And I haven’t seen my daughters in over a year.”

Tarth was looking at her carefully. “I’m sorry.”

Cat nodded. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but their salty sting mixed with the red-hot anger she felt whenever she thought over what’d happened to her family.

“And it seems like it would get mighty lonely,” the taller woman said quietly, “holding down this home all on your own.”

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” Cat answered, soft. She cleared her throat, dabbed the corners of her eyes, and put on a smile. “But I hardly know a thing about you, Deputy Tarth. How’d a lady like you end up enforcing the law in a rough place like Winterfell?”

Tarth glanced down at her hands and cleared her throat, almost bashfully.

“Well. I was a sharpshooter as soon as my daddy put a gun in my hand, and that was just as soon as I could walk,” she said, and paused. “Now, there aren’t too many jobs out there for a woman who’s a crack shot with a rifle. I ain’t pretty enough to make like Annie Oakley and join some traveling show.” Tarth stretched both hands up behind her head, a little smile pulling at her mouth to show she was joking. “The army wouldn’t let me join up, so… I had to become a woman of the law. I was a bounty hunter for a while, before that,” she added. “But I didn’t like that too much. Ain’t much morality in that sorta profession.”

“So you became a sheriff’s deputy.”

“That’s right. Now, most sheriffs in these parts have to be elected, and since there ain’t too many towns willing to elect a woman, I found work as a deputy. Other than that I ain’t had any trouble as a woman doing this job.” Tarth paused, looking serious. But after hearing all your stories, ma’am… it seems you’ve had a real hard time. I want you to know I’ll do everything I can to keep this town safe. And I sure hope you ain’t disappointed that I’m not a man.” Tarth looked down at her cocoa.

Cat was quiet for a moment. “I believe I would have let a _gentleman_ deputy board with the Mormonts,” she said honestly. “And I certainly wouldn’t be sitting up at all hours of the night sharing cocoa and conversation with a strange man.” She gave Brienne a soft smile and a wink. “Some things are just for us women.”

Deputy Tarth wasn’t much to look at, but Cat thought she had just the prettiest smile this side of the Rocky Mountains when she smiled like that.

“Aw, well,” Tarth said, rubbing her hand over the back of her neck in embarrassment, cheeks still flushed pink.

Then she looked up, and her face was unusually fierce. “Ma’am, I’ll help you get your daughters back, I swear it. If that’s what you truly want.”

Cat was stunned. “Yes, I—that’s what I want. I want my girls back.”

“Then I promise,” Tarth said, not taking her eyes from Catelyn’s, “that I’ll get them for you.” Tarth had set one big hand on the table palm up, and without realizing what she was doing Cat shifted forward and set her hand in the other woman’s, squeezing tight like that was answer enough. It was nearly midnight, it was dark, and it had been a long day—but her head seemed perfectly clear.

_God help me_ , Cat thought, a little dizzy, _I’ve only known this woman for a single day, but I want to believe her._  

_I think I already do._  


* * *

  
The first thing Deputy Tarth did as sheriff of Winterfell was kick Roose Bolton out of the sheriff’s office and back into the city hall where he belonged, pushing papers and doing the kind of clerical work that kept the town running.

The second thing she did was ride out to meet all the homesteaders around Winterfell proper, listening to their grievances one by one. It took time, but she earned their trust. When the Mormont girls challenged her to a sharpshooting competition, Tarth won the respect of all the gunslingers in town by showing them she really did have an eagle eye. Soon the regulars were inviting Deputy Tarth in for drinks at the saloon, joking and kidding her like an old friend.

“She can shoot straight,” Smalljon Umber said admiringly, “and she takes her whiskey neat. That’s what I want in a sheriff, and she’s a damn good one.”

The third thing Tarth did was worm her way into the Stark household, one heart at a time. She taught Rickon how to sight down a barrel and take a clean shot, practicing on old tin cans lined up on the front porch. Even Jeyne was grudgingly won over when Tarth kept on carving her little trinkets out of scraps of wood and and taught her how to win at poker.  

As for Cat, there was never any doubt. They sat at home on quiet nights by lamplight, the autumn chill whistling around the windows but never quite creeping in. As Jeyne darned socks, Cat worked on her quilt blocks, and Rickon played quietly by the fire at their feet, Deputy Tarth would read aloud from the weathered copy of Tennyson she told Cat she’d kept stowed in her saddlebags since she first left her father’s homestead. _On either side the river lie, Long fields of barley and rye_. Sometimes she would glance up over the top of her book for just a moment, catch Cat’s eye, and smile. It filled a place in Cat’s chest Cat hadn’t known was empty.

The fourth thing Tarth did was keep her promise.  


* * *

  
Tarth didn’t bother to knock or wipe her boots when she bounded into the Stark house two months after she’d first arrived, and that was how Cat knew something extraordinary had happened. “Mrs. Stark!” she hollered. “Mrs. Stark, I’ve gotta tell you—”

Cat hurried out of the kitchen. “Lord have mercy, Deputy Tarth, what is it?”

Tarth hesitated, as if she’d just remembered propriety and was about to get embarrassed about rushing in and tracking dust all over the rag rug. But whatever she had to say won out over the pink blush creeping up her face. “Ma’am, it’s your daughters.”

It was as if all the breath had gone out of Cat’s body. “I don’t—”

“It’s the Lannisters,” Tarth said breathlessly, waving a piece of rolled-up paper all around. “That’s the family of Robert Baratheon’s widow; word is, they’re holding a monopoly on his Congress seat. They’ve got your girls out there in Sacramento, and intend on keeping them. _Unless_ we’ve got something they want.”

Tarth paused to draw breath, looking excited and satisfied. “And we do. The Lannister heir was just arrested out in the buttes. Stagecoach robbery.”

Cat’s mouth dropped open. “So that means—”

“It’s a notice of his deposition,” Tarth said, brandishing the paper at her. “I’ll ride out to meet the law at the county jail tomorrow morning, and I’ll escort him as a prisoner to California. Then I’ll barter him for your daughters. Trade him, if you will.” Brienne’s eyes flashed. “There’s no way they’ll hold your daughters against their will after that.”

There were a few moments when Cat’s knees seemed to go weak, but her spine was ramrod straight. Without realizing what she was doing, she crossed the front room to stand in front of the taller woman, gazing up.

“Oh, Deputy Tarth,” Cat said, her voice shaky. “How will I ever thank you.”

“You can start by calling me Brienne,” the other woman said slowly. And it might have been Cat’s state of mind, but suddenly those blue eyes of hers seemed real bright.

“Then you should call me Cat,” she answered softly. She reached out to clasp Brienne’s hands and Brienne’s fingers tightened on hers right away, like this was something they had always done. Brienne’s eyes closed for just a moment, sandy lashes fluttering, and Cat saw for the first time the freckles that dusted her face like a dash of cinnamon. They were just apparent under her tan, and made the taller woman seem as young as a girl.

Cat tipped her head up and stared right into Brienne’s eyes. Time seemed to slow, sweet as honey, until—

“Oh, I shouldn’t do this, ma’am,” Brienne said suddenly. Made suddenly clumsy by some tangle of embarrassment and nerves, she stumbled slightly as she stepped backwards. “It—it don’t feel right.”

Cat closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, tried to summon up the guilt that she knew ought to belong in her Christian soul. But she couldn’t find it in her to feel guilty. All she felt was a deep sense of warmth, passion, and love. It was an echo of the way she’d always felt when she was with Ned—safe, secure, aching.

“That’s not true,” she said in a hot whisper, reaching up to tenderly cup Brienne’s face in her hands. “Brienne, you know it’s not.”

It all happened so fast that it hardly seemed like anything happened at all. Right there in the front room with the curtains open, but God Himself could have seen this and Cat would have sworn up and down there was nothing sinful about it. Not when it felt like this. Not when this other woman had just promised her the closest thing to salvation Cat could ever imagine.

And Cat hardly knew what she was doing—maybe she’d gone a little crazy. But she hadn’t touched anyone this way since Ned had passed. Deputy Tarth’s arms were strong, but her lips were soft and—no, it wasn’t like kissing Ned, it wasn’t like anything Cat had ever done before. But she liked it. What was more, she _needed_ it.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Cat breathed when they stopped, gazing up at the woman who held her tight. “That’s real nice.”

Brienne’s eyes were blazing. “I’m leavin’ town tomorrow to find your daughters,” she told Cat. “I don’t want to promise you anything that’ll last longer, because— Because I can’t. You need to know that, Cat.”

“Good,” Cat whispered, pulling her back close, aching for Brienne in every part of her body. “Then at least we’ll have tonight.”

Brienne covered her mouth with a kiss, swept Cat up off her feet, and carried her up the stairs.   


* * *

  
In the morning, as she watched Brienne Tarth ride out of town alongside the Western Union messenger Podrick Payne, Cat’s heart burned with a memory and a promise, and a painfully familiar ache that she had known before.

It seemed impossible when she had a husband to grieve, a family to keep together, and missing children to long for, but Cat had lost yet another piece of her heart to the deputy sheriff who was leaving this town behind in a cloud of dust.

She could only pray that she would see Brienne again, with her daughters in tow. And if not… 

If not, then Cat might just have to take matters into her own hands. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely played fast and loose with the characters populating Winterfell... sorry y'all. (Yeah, I know Lady Hornwood should be off in some tower snacking on her own fingers and Jory Cassel should have gone with Ned but IT'S AN AU.) Also, the lack of time to do meticulously detailed historical research really stressed me out but the general idea should stand. 
> 
> The Tennyson poem Brienne reads is "The Lady of Shalott", which I thought fit nicely with the knight/lady theme Cat and Brienne have going on in canon. (She reads Tennyson because I watched _Cat Ballou_ and Jane Fonda reads Tennyson in that movie. Yep, that was about the extent of my research.)
> 
> Title from “Ole Buttermilk Sky” by Kay Kyser & His Orchestra. (Big shoutout to that one random playlist on 8tracks for that one. Thanks 8tracks!!)


End file.
